


Taking a STANd

by GasterFan5



Series: Gravity Falls [15]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: ;), Abuse, Filbrick's an ass, Gen, I Tried, I'm Sorry, Possession, Stanuary Week 4, Tagging is difficult, fight, not a really happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:15:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22406326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GasterFan5/pseuds/GasterFan5
Summary: Stanley had been abused by his father for years. It wasn't a big deal in his mind, and he kind of just let it exist. But he slowly grows angry at the world.Ford...was going to leave him behind.He was going to be alone...And one day, he fights back.
Series: Gravity Falls [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1235264
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33
Collections: Stanuary





	Taking a STANd

It was a horrible scene. Blood was splattered across the wooden floor, the faint smell of alcohol was high in the air, and there was yelling. Oh, god, the _yelling_. But for Stanley, this was normal. He backed up a bit, tears spilling down his face.

“I-I’m sorry…” he mumbled, fear stopping him from looking up into his father’s eyes. This seemed to make him even angrier.

“Men don’t cry! You’re pathetic,” Filbrick spat, glaring at his son. “If only you could be more like Ford..” he said disapprovingly. And Stan just shook his head and cried as he slowly grew weaker and weaker. Then he passed out.

. . .

POV CHANGE–Filbrick

I woke up from my daze, looking around the room. The first thing I noticed was the blood on the ground and the broken bottles. My heart broke as I saw Stan facing away from me.

My head hurt, my legs were shaky, and I couldn’t think, I couldn’t think, _I couldn’t think straight_ –

What had I done?

. . .

Stan sat in his bed for a moment. He had no clue how he got there. Hours had already passed since that moment, but he couldn’t find the strength to move. His alarm clock was going off like crazy, yet right now all he could do was simply stare at the bunk right above his head. No, Stan hadn’t gotten any sleep last night. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Filbrick had said–and he was right, too. _You should be more like Ford…_

Shouldn’t he be more like Ford? The smart one with the extra fingers? Now that Stan truly took a moment to consider, _Ford_ should’ve been the screw-up, the oddball, the strange six-fingered _freak,_ but it somehow…reversed. Now Stan, the one who everyone had high hopes for, was the screw-up, and Ford was the smart one. And Filbrick knew this, and Stan knew, too. Stan was simply a spare pawn to keep in the back of Filbrick’s pocket, but the problem was he refused to be used. A broken piece.

He heard Ford descend the ladder and head over to the connected bathroom, and he sighed. Stan felt sore, and like he was going to pass out, but he decided to toughen up a bit like Filbrick always suggested and took his turn in the bathroom.

After all, he really should be more like Ford…

. . .

He could hear the announcements. Everyone else was taking notes in the class–but not him, for he had given up on trying a long time ago. So when the Pines brothers were called, Stan immediately looked over to his brother and groaned.

They walked down the hallways silently, and then sat down at the office doors, waiting patiently for something to happen, for someone to be called. Ford was called in, and Stan let him go. He could hear whispers in the room and leaned in closer. If it was something bad, he wanted to be able to support his brother.

Instead, he found they were talking about how great he was. And how trashy Stan was. He frowned, slumping down against the door. Ford didn’t object to saying such hurtful things about Stan, and that angered him. Not a terrible amount, though, because he knew how Ford could get. Instead, he sat and waited outside the door for them to finish.

. . .

“Look at Ford! He’s surely going places! He’s going to make us millions. But what about you, Stanley? Our screw-up?”

Stan tensed. He just got home from school. Ford never left, and right about now he was working on his science fair project. His mom was probably “in the business” right now, too, so that meant…that meant…

He was alone, at home, with his father. He didn’t say anything, didn’t respond, to the hurtful words Filbrick said.

“Excuse me? Are you listening?!” he suddenly asked. Stanley was about to say something, but Filbrick kept on going anyway. He sighed. “Oh, what, am I bothering you?” he asked, leaning in close. Stan could smell the alcohol on his breath, and he cringed.

Filbrick watched him for a second. The silence was irritating him so much. So much that he threw a punch directly in Stan’s gut. He groaned and doubled over. “You can’t even take that much pain,” he said distastefully. “What will we ever do with you?”

Stan looked up, gritting his teeth. He couldn’t manage a word as his father swung again. And again. And again. The whole time he was saying things, such as, “You should’ve been like Ford.”

And he…he was right. He should’ve been like Ford. He should’ve been the better twin.

. . .

POV CHANGE–Filbrick

It felt like a sweet release when I woke up. It felt like, after all of those long, agonizing hours, I could finally breathe. My breathing was rapid, as though at any moment I would start to choke on the very air that had possessed me.

I was confused. What had just happened? I could see when it did, sure, but it…it felt wrong. I knew I would never have done that. It felt like my body had moved without me, my voice had come out without my say.

It was terrible. Tears spilled down my face as I slowly started to break down.

. . .

Time passed really quickly for a while. Stan didn’t care what happened anymore, and all of his interests dried up and died. He would lay awake most nights and receive some kind of punishment every night.

His grades dropped from 60’s down slowly to 20’s to, eventually, zeros. Because he never turned in anything, and he never tried. Some days he wouldn’t even go to school, either because he was hurt so badly or he wasn’t up for it mentally.

Nobody ever asked him how he was doing, because nobody really cared for his well-being. Okay, well, Ford did. Every once in a while he’d start to ask questions, but for the past few months, he’d been strangely quiet. Stan didn’t mind in the least.

Then, one day, Ford cornered him.

. . .

It was late at night. Ford had been up studying and noticed the door open. Light spilled into the room for a quick second, covering every corner, before it disappeared. He heard Stan sigh and shakily climb into bed when he finally spoke.

“Stanley?”

He froze. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t think. All he knew is that this should not be happening, and if he were more like Ford, maybe it wouldn’t have. Maybe–“Stan? Are you alright?”

“M’fine,” he hissed, still deep in his own thoughts.

“You’ve been off the past few months. Care to explain?”

Stan could picture it so well, telling him everything, never having to deal with the aftermath…but that was fantasy and nothing else. He knew he’d have to suffer through the consequences, and that he would have to fix this all by himself. Which, he also knew, Ford would be able to handle just fine. “I don’t see anything off,” he replied, acting casual about it and laying down. He pretended to be asleep.

He heard a small sigh as Ford resumed studying. Stan really wished he was asleep right now, but all he could hear, all he could see in his eyes whenever he closed them was Filbrick. He could feel the phantom pain crash down on him as though it were happening again, and he could see the hate in his smile, the hate he knew would be in his eyes, too, and heard the disgusting things he said.

And Stan started to tear up. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help it, and quickly wiped them away with his good arm. Everything always raced back to him when the night started, and right now was no exception.

It had been hours of this agony, or perhaps only minutes, when he heard Ford climb the ladder and crawl into his own bed. _Creeeak._ And that was that. They were both supposed to be sleeping by now.

But that was not an option; Ford fell asleep soon enough, surely, but Stan couldn’t help but remain awake for a while longer.

Pain shot up from his arm and he winced, shaking it slightly in hopes that maybe the feeling would go away. It didn’t, so he gave up with a small sigh. Ford would be able to tolerate this pain, this pain that he couldn’t. He knew. So Stan let it be and tried to get some sleep.

. . .

The swings moved a little in the wind. It was early in the morning, and the sun hadn’t even risen yet. It was 3:02 in the morning. Stanley was sitting down on his swing, staring off into the distance. He’d never been able to get any sleep, so he decided it would be better to get out of the house.

The cold winds started to attack him; perhaps short sleeves weren’t as good an idea as he thought. Still, here he was. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, slowly swinging and thinking, thinking, _thinking_. There was nothing he could do about it anymore, he reasoned. But his mind still took him back to the moment when he’d heard the news. Filbrick was planning to have Ford leave him and his dreams–the only thing keeping him here–behind. But there was no way Ford would leave. Right..?

Hours passed, and he still sat there. Eventually, he saw Ford creep out, expecting to be alone at this time of the day, to find Stanley. He made no noise as he sat down beside Stan.

“I’m thinking about going.”

Stan’s eyes widened and his head snapped over to look at Ford. “You’re kidding.” But the look in Ford’s eyes told him he wasn’t. He looked away.

“Look, if I don’t get in, then we can stay together. But I’ve always dreamed of going to a place like this!” Ford reasoned, thinking about everything he would learn. He knew he would get in, there was no doubt in his mind, so saying this was alright in his mind. Stan knew he would get in, too.

“If you’re going to leave, then do it,” Stan replied brokenly. A moment of silence passed before he stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m…going home,” he said, tears forming in his eyes that he ignored. And he ran towards their house.

. . .

It took several long minutes for Stan to reach the house, let alone get in. Almost the second he opened the door, he spotted Filbrick. “And _where_ have you been?” he asked, a stern frown on his face.

“Out,” he replied, casually walking past him. This angered Filbrick. How dare he ignore him like this? He walked in front of Stan.

“That’s not an answer. Where have you been?” he repeated, glaring under his glasses.

“Out,” he replied before walking past him and into his room. He started packing his shit into a bag before Filbrick came in.

“What’re you doing? You can’t leave, you know,” Filbrick said.

“I know.”

He grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ground. “Don’t play games with me, son.”

Stan heard something and saw metal. Oh, so that’s how it was going to be. He didn’t say anything, only narrowed his eyes. Filbrick slashed at him and accidentally dropped him. Then Stan, instead of cowering like he always used to, used his rage from Ford’s betrayal and punched him in the jaw.

His shades fell off, skidding on the ground. Burning yellow eyes stared back at him.

Stanley didn’t understand, and he probably wouldn’t any time soon, why his eyes glowed. Why they slit unnaturally. Instead, he grabbed his bag and turned to leave.

Tackle! Filbrick lunged at him before punching, punching, punching. “I must say,” he said, trying to keep the natural, low voice, but failing. It came out high and nasally. “You’re really good practice,” he said, grinning.

Then he was shoved forcefully off, chuckling like an idiot. Then wheezing, gasping for air as he fell to the ground. His eyes turned white, and he looked around the room for a second. Tears fell when he once again saw his son. The blood. Everything.

His voice was normal once more–and the man that rarely ever spoke, did. “I’m so sorry.”

Stan didn’t say anything, picking up his belongings, and walked out the door to never be seen again.

. . .

_“Hey there, old man!”_

_It was a familiar voice. A very familiar voice. Filbrick looked up from his work and saw a large triangle without a mouth somehow smiling. He returned it._

_“H-hello?”_

_“I’ve been thinking…about making a deal. How would you like both of your sons to be accepted? The Pines family could become legendary,” Bill said. It sounded very appealing. He thought back to the town bullies and the sadness in their eyes when they came home beaten._

_“Deal,” Filbrick said without hesitance._

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if it's kind of short, or feels rushed! This week has felt off for me, and I only started writing this yesterday instead of Monday or Tuesday. Still, I think it turned out alright...?
> 
> Hope you guys have had a lovely January! :D
> 
> Oh, and if you guys find something off, don't be afraid to comment about it! I'm a lot nicer now :)


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